


All Flesh Consorteth

by Gweezle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, And is a Narcissistic Bastard, As in Hannibal is Will's Biological Father, Branding with a Scalpel, Daddy Kink, HEED THE WARNINGS!, Hannibal is NOT NICE, Incarcerated Hannibal, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Once Again Jack Crawford Ruins Everything, Parent/Child Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Taken to its Logical Extreme, Teacher Will, everything is terrible and everything hurts, no seriously, psychological abuse, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7397920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gweezle/pseuds/Gweezle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham thought learning that the man who raised him wasn't his biological father was the worst thing to ever happen to him, until he sees his birth father, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, on the news, unveiled to the world as Hannibal the Cannibal, a sadistic serial killer with a taste for human flesh.</p>
<p>When a man is found murdered exactly like one of Lecter's previous victims, FBI Agent, Jack Crawford asks Will to interview the notorious killer. Will accepts out of a desire to get to know the man who sired him. Unfortunately, Lecter is very keen to get to know him as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. According To Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! I'm back with a new story.
> 
> This was originally supposed to be just a quick one-shot for the JustFuckMeUp Kink Fest...and now it's 35 pages long and about three weeks late. Oh, well. At least I finished it.
> 
> WARNING! Lecter is a straight up monster in this. There's no growing infatuation or cheerful conversations between him and Will like in Philia. He's a sociopath who believes that it's his right to do whatever he wants to Will because he's his son and therefore basically his possession. It's a mindset that is terrifyingly common when narcissists become parents.
> 
> With that said, I hope this is an engaging story, even if it's not a very happy one.

Edric Graham slowly opens his eyes as his son slips inside the hospital room.

“Hey, kiddo,” he rasps, smiling faintly.

Will Graham, with two cups of coffee in his hands, can only stare in shock.

When his father called to say he was sick, Will hadn’t thought too much about it. He realizes now that he should have. Edric Graham is not the type of man to complain about minor ailments.

He looks old, skin jaundiced and wrinkled. His hair is white and sparse. He’s lost close to thirty pounds. He looks like a man going on seventy rather than fifty.

Will doesn’t have to be a doctor to know that his condition is serious, and he feels a lump grow in his throat. “Hi, Daddy.”

Edric laughs, but it quickly turns into a pained cough. “Jesus, I must look like hell if you’re calling me that.”

Will doesn’t smile. He takes a chair next to the bed. There’s an IV running into the veins on the back of his hand, so Will touches his arm instead, feeling his lip start to quiver. “What did the doctor say?”

“A lot o’ mumbo jumbo that I didn’t pay attention to.”

“ _Dad._ ”

Edric falls silent for a moment. “He gave me a week. Said my liver’s shot. My fault, of course. I shoulda cut back on the whiskey years ago.”

Will sniffs, and then lets his forehead fall against the bed as unshed tears burn his eyes.

Edric reaches up to pet his dark curls. “Hey, it’s okay, kiddo.”

“You’re dying. How is _anything_ okay?” he sobs.

His father doesn’t answer. He just continues smoothing down Will’s curls until his shoulders stop heaving.

“Have a drink, buddy. I got something to tell you.”

Will sits up and wipes his eyes, then downs a cup of tepid coffee.

His father doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. He just stares at Will as he gathers his thoughts.

“You know I love you, right?”

Will nods, unable to speak.

Edric sighs. “I’m going to tell you something, but just remember, I love you more than anything in the world, no matter what. You’re _my_ son, okay?”

Will stares at him, confused, but nods again.

Edric inhales deeply, and closes his eyes. “In 1981, just before your mother and I started dating, she went to visit a relative of hers in Paris for two weeks. I was a goddamned fool for not telling her I loved her before she left, but I don’t regret that.” He licks his lips. “Emmy, Emmeline, your mother, she met someone while she was there. He was only sixteen, but he was already a medical student at a university. She said he had this Old World charm and sophistication.”

Will feels his stomach twist into knots as his mind puts together the pieces before his father can even finish speaking.

“They slept together,” Edric states. “Just once. It was a fling. Didn’t mean anything.” It sounds rehearsed, and Will wonders how many times his mother used those exact phrases.

“When she came back, I finally told her how I felt about her. We started going out, and we were married before your mother started…showing.” He clears his throat, blinking his watery brown eyes slowly. “I knew you weren’t mine. We talked about…about abortion, but she didn’t want one, and I didn’t want to put her through that. We decided…that you would be ours. Emmy didn’t want to mess up the med student’s life, so we didn’t contact him.”

Will can only stare at his… _not-father._ He feels indignant – humiliated. How could they keep this from him?

Edric plows forward, desperate to finish his confession. “We tried to have another baby when you were three or so. Took us almost a year to figure out that it wasn’t going to happen. Broke your mother’s heart. I think that’s when she started pulling away. I was so terrified that I’d wake up one day to find the two of you gone.” He swallows. “I was half-right. I don’t know why she left you with me, but I’m glad she did.” He reaches for Will’s hand, determination giving him strength. “Just ‘cuz you ain’t my blood don’t make you any less my son, you understand? If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.” He smiles weakly then. “Well, maybe I’d drink a little less. God, your mother’d kill me for unloading this on you. She never wanted you to know.”

Will sucks in a breath, trying to remain calm. “What was his name? The med student?”

Edric shifts in the bed, grunting in pain before settling into a more comfortable position. “Hannibal Lecter.”

 

Will doesn’t search for him.

Even after the man who raised him is dead and buried, Will doesn’t seek out the man who sired him. It feels too much like a betrayal. In spite of everything, he still loves his dad, blood or not.

There’s no point anyway. All he has is a name and a possible occupation. He doesn’t even know if those two things are accurate.

He stops being a cop just months later, after a routine domestic disturbance ends with his partner getting shot and him getting stabbed by a coked up suspect. He applies for the FBI. Doesn’t get in. Too unstable. They give him a teaching job, and offer a not-so-subtle suggestion that he should get some psychological testing done.

Will spends all of ten minutes in Frederick Chilton’s presence before storming out of his office. He refuses to even _consider_ a new psychiatrist.

Five years pass. He spends his time rescuing stray dogs. They fill his empty house with eager barks and lolling tongues and coat every surface with their hair. After a while, he convinces himself that he can be happy.

And then he sees his father on the news.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter – dubbed Hannibal the Cannibal by the press – stares back at him. His face is largely hidden by a white, plastic mask. He’s trussed up in a straitjacket and strapped to a dolly. At least two guards are stationed with him at all times.

Will knows he shouldn’t, but he watches every interview about the deranged doctor. His spends hours on his computer, even lowering himself to adding to the hit count of Freddie Lounds’ articles on _TattleCrime.com_ as he digs into the cannibal’s past.

Most of his life is a mystery. He immigrated to America in his twenties and became a successful surgeon at Johns Hopkins Hospital. He was everyone’s favourite socialite, throwing spectacular dinner parties several times a year. He was a connoisseur of fine arts. A gentleman.

He had the perfect camouflage, until Miriam Lass, an agent-in-training stumbled upon one of his drawings and recognized the face of one of the Chesapeake Ripper’s victims.

She was lucky. If she’d been a bit slower on the draw, she would’ve ended up on Lecter’s table during one of his fancy dinner parties.

 

Weeks go by. Summer arrives, and his classes end, leaving him with far too much time on his hands. He spends most of it googling Hannibal Lecter, hoping against hope that there’s another man with his name buried somewhere online, if only so he can convince himself that this monster in human form is not his father.

He finds other Hannibals, other Lecters, but no one else has that exact name, and none of them match the age that his mother’s mysterious lover would be.

Unless she lied about his name, and his age, and his schooling. He doesn’t remember her well enough to determine what the truth could be.

When Will finally realizes how to put his mind at ease, he nearly smacks himself. He’s lounging on the couch, flipping through the channels on his decade-old television when he comes across a rerun of _The Maury Show._ It’s daytime talk show drivel, but he pauses when he hears those oft-repeated words, “You are _not_ the father.”

The crowd boos and hisses, a woman starts sobbing, a man gets out of his chair and marches off the stage, humiliated, and Will Graham sits up, finally realizing that there’s an easy way to find out the truth.

He’s not planning to go on any talk show – though Jerry Springer would probably trip over himself to interview the man who claimed to be Hannibal the Cannibal’s long-lost son – but he _is_ in a position to get a sample of Lecter’s DNA. He has enough pull at Quantico to ask one of the lab techs to order a cheek swab for scientific purposes.

He looks up paternity testing online, finds a lab that’s highly praised for its accuracy – and privacy – and orders a home kit.

 

Will actually has to wait in line to get a sample of Lecter’s DNA. It’s rare to find a serial killer with his particular brand of cruelty, at least not alive. He’d be more annoyed if he wasn’t grateful for the extra anonymity. Lecter’s cheek swab is delivered to his office by a pretty, but rather shy lab tech. Her hand trembles when she gives it to him. He forces himself to smile like a normal person, and to thank her for her help.

She’s too nervous to ask any questions, and quickly scurries away, peeking longingly over her shoulder once she enters the hallway. Will doesn’t notice, too busy twirling the glass vial with the buccal swab inside.

When he gets home, he collects his own swab – it doesn’t hurt at all, though it does tickle a bit – and carefully places them in their proper packaging to be dropped off at the post office in the morning.

It takes a long, nail-biting week for the results to be mailed back, and he steels himself before opening them.

There’s a letter reassuring all customers that the lab uses the best DNA testing technology to give the most accurate results possible. At the very least, even if Lecter _isn’t_ his father, this test will prove it to him without a doubt and finally put his mind at ease.

Taking a deep breath, he finally looks at the results.

Will doesn’t know how long he sits on the couch, but eventually his dogs start whining from hunger, and he comes out of his fugue state with a start. He stands up and robotically fills their food and water bowls. His stomach growls, but he’s never felt less hungry in his life.

His eyes keep straying back to that number – 99.99997%. That’s how likely it is that Dr. Hannibal Lecter is his father, but unless the man has a secret brother or something, it might as well be 100%.

The results list the genetic markers they share, called alleles. He can’t help but wonder what _else_ they have in common.

 

Will’s classes resume, and he’s almost relieved to be back. Anything to distract him from his thoughts.

That relief lasts until the day he sees Alana Bloom – a dear colleague, and the closest person he has to a real friend – standing outside his office door one morning. She gives him a soft, strained smile when she spots him, and that’s the only warning he gets before Jack Crawford barges over.

For a moment, Will is sure that he’s somehow learned about his relationship to Lecter, and he’s here to take him into custody, ‘as a precaution’. Of course, it’s illogical, but it makes his heart race, and he has to swallow down his fear as the large man approaches him.

“Will,” Alana says in her sweet voice. “This is Agent Jack Crawford.”

“I’d prefer to speak with him alone. Thank you, Dr. Bloom.”

Her mouth twists in displeasure, and she gives Will a sympathetic look as she leaves. Will isn’t too worried. He knows she won’t go far, and she’ll be back in a second if things get to be too much for him.

Sometimes he thinks he could fall in love with her so easily.

They enter his office together, and Crawford gets straight to the point. “I’m told you have an interesting way of looking at crime scenes, Dr. Graham.”

Will frowns. “I’m not a doctor.” He adjusts his glasses so Crawford’s face is cut off. “And I don’t do that anymore. It’s not good for my mental health,” he says bitterly.

“How about just looking at some pictures?” the agent prods, holding out a manila folder for him.

Will takes it automatically, but gives Crawford a hard look. “Pictures aren’t the same as the scenes themselves, but you already know that. Why are you _really_ here, Agent Crawford?”

The agent falters for the first time, then smiles. “I see they weren’t exaggerating about your perceptiveness, Mr. Graham.”

Will says nothing, waiting for the man to continue.

Crawford’s smile fades, and he gestures towards the folder. “Just take a look and tell me what you think.”

He bristles at being ordered around, but his curiosity is growing by the second. He flips the file open and his breath catches in his throat at the sight.

His mind is already rebuilding the crime scene without his consent, and after a moment, he flips the folder shut again with a shudder.

“Someone’s copying Lecter’s work?” he asks. His voice sounds very distant to his own ears.

Crawford’s mouth snarls, and Will catches _doubtguilt_ flash across his face.

“Lecter killed Jeremy Olmstead, I’m sure of that,” Will states, mostly to silence his _own_ doubts that his father might just be an innocent man locked away on faulty evidence. He knows what Lecter is.

“It’s a _perfect_ rendition,” Crawford says.

“The Ripper doesn’t repeat himself. His victims are pigs, but they are all distasteful in their own unique ways, and therefore their deaths must be unique as well.”

Crawford is a little wide-eyed. Perhaps he hadn’t expected Will to know so much about Lecter. He’d been careful to never show more than a slight academic interest in the man. He didn’t even include his crimes in his lesson plans. Maybe he never will.

“Only the bare details of Olmstead’s death were released to the public. Certainly not enough to recreate the murder.”

“Then it’s someone on the inside. Or maybe Lecter told someone. You should ask him.”

“I’d rather _you_ did.”

Will wonders if he misheard the man. He stares at him for a moment. “…Sorry?”

Crawford takes a step closer, crowding him. “Would you be willing to interview Hannibal Lecter?”

His first instinct is to say, _no._ He shouldn’t want anything to do with someone like Lecter. The man is a sadist, lacking any conventional morality. He’d skin someone alive for chatting on their phone during a movie (although really, who _hasn’t_ thought about doing that?).

His second instinct is buried much deeper, but it’s surprisingly powerful. _This may be the only chance you get to talk to your father._

Will scowls. He had a father. His name was Edric Graham, and he loved him until the day he died. Lecter is nothing more than a glorified sperm donor. He probably has half a dozen illegitimate children running around Europe. Monsters like him use people and throw them away without a thought to compassion or decency. Perhaps his mother realized what he was, and that’s why she wanted nothing to do with him.

Still, the primal desire to know where he came from only grows, and his mouth opens of its own accord.

“ _Fine,_ I’ll talk to him, but that’s it.”

Crawford doesn’t bother to hide his triumph, and he saunters out of the room, calling over his shoulder that he’ll make him an appointment with Lecter for that night.

Will swallows down a mouthful of bile and goes to his classroom.

 

The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane (BSHCI) is a large, depressing building. Will hates places like this. He’s always afraid he won’t be allowed to leave.

It doesn’t help that the administrator is none other than Frederick Chilton. Will almost pities his father when he finds out that Chilton insists on treating Lecter himself. The death penalty must be looking pretty appealing right about now.

“It’s so good to see you again, Will. I was so concerned when I found out you’d decided to discontinue your treatment,” Chilton says in his slimy voice.

Will barely looks at him as they pass through a security station with a slouching guard whose gaze follows them with surprising alertness. “Well, I haven’t gone on any murder sprees lately, so I’d say I’m doing just fine without your… _treatment._ ”

Chilton takes it as a friendly joke, and not the slight that it is, but Will doesn’t bother to correct him.

“He’s just down the hall? Last cell on the left?” he asks, indicating with a nod of his head.

“Yes, quite. I try to minimize his contact with the other patients. He has a way of upsetting people. Miggs – the patient who used to be in the cell next to him – nearly bit through his tongue last week after Lecter spent a few minutes whispering to him.” Chilton sounds far too eager to discuss the details of Lecter’s misconducts. Will wonders if the administrator let something slip about Olmstead’s murder. It’s a possibility.

Chilton starts to walk down the hall, but Will grabs his shoulder to stop him. “I can take it from here. I know how to handle myself.”

He looks affronted. “With all due respect, Will, I doubt you’ve _ever_ handled someone like Hannibal Lecter.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, striding forward before Chilton can protest. He hears the man huff and turn away, muttering under his breath.

His nerves start to act up just before he reaches the cell, but he grits his teeth and bares it. Five minutes – ten tops – and then he can leave.

Lecter is behind a thick sheet of glass. Definitely shatterproof. It also offers little privacy. Will almost winces. The man is treated like an exhibit in a zoo. It’s disgusting.

There’s a curtain that wraps around his toilet, but everything else is exposed. His bed, his chair and desk, his books, his artwork. It’s all on display. He wonders if Lecter appreciates it on some level. The man always did enjoy putting on a show.

There are two cameras pointed at the cell. One is probably for the guard’s station, and the other for Chilton’s office. Will does his best to ignore them.

“Well, _you’re_ certainly not a reporter,” Lecter says. His accent is hard to place, but sounds like something Eastern European mixed with French. He sets down the charcoal pencil he’d been drawing with and gives Will his full attention.

Will looks at him, finally, and can’t stop himself from comparing his face to his own. There’s little similarity, thank goodness. Lecter is pale with salt and pepper hair. He looks gaunt, like he’s lost weight, and his sharp cheekbones are probably his most prominent feature. His lips form a perfect cupid’s bow, and they turn up in pleasure as he looks at his guest.

With Will’s dark, curly hair, round face, and long eyelashes, it’s clear he takes after his mother, though he has his grandfather’s jawline. There’s hardly a trace of this man in him, except on a chromosomal level.

“I’m a teacher,” he says, keeping his gaze on Lecter’s pale eyebrows. “Will Graham.”

“And what do you _teach,_ Mr. Graham?”

“Criminal Profiling, at Quantico.”

Lecter leans back in his chair and tents his hands under his chin. “I used to mentor young doctors back in my surgery days. I’m always willing to help out a fellow teacher. Would you like to hear my life story so you can parrot it back to your little agents-to-be and make them think they can truly understand what kind of monsters they’ll be hunting?” Lecter’s voice is lilting, mocking. His smile is just a bit too sharp.

Will smiles back, mimicking the expression unconsciously. “Sorry, you didn’t make the lesson plan. Maybe next year. I’m actually here on Jack Crawford’s behalf.”

Lecter’s eyebrow arches just a bit. “He sent a teacher to dig up all my little secrets? That seems rather desperate.”

He scoffs, thinking that the man _must_ be desperate indeed to come to Will for help. “Probably, but I’m not here for that either. I understand you well enough.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“You’d be surprised.” He redirects his gaze to the bridge of Lecter’s nose. There’s usually a procedure for this type of interrogation – being courteous, establishing trust – but Will’s never preferred doing things the conventional way.

“Did you tell anyone how you killed Jeremy Olmstead, in _detail?_ ”

Lecter’s eyes widen in mock-surprise. “ _Ah,_ so you’re here to learn about my admirer.” He gets up from behind his desk, coming to stand directly in front of Will, back straight and hands clasped behind him. He sniffs the air, and his nose wrinkles. “You have awful taste in aftershave, Mr. Graham. I suppose _that_ – along with the wrinkled clothes and the lack of a wedding band on your finger – means you have no one waiting for you to come home.”

It almost sounds like a threat, the way he says it, though what exactly he’s threatening, Will doesn’t know. It’s not as if he poses any threat to him. Chilton might be an idiot, but he knows better than to let security slack off too much around a man like Lecter.

“I have dogs,” he says, because he’s not sure what Lecter is implying, or if he’s just trying to distract Will from the copycat.

“They hardly count.”

Will glares, a little offended, and redirects the conversation. “Your _admirer_ was eager to learn everything about you, well enough to recreate your work. They don’t really understand you, though.” He frowns thoughtfully. “You’re humouring them, sitting back and enjoying the chaos, all the while finding the execution…dull.”

Lecter’s eyes brighten just a bit, and Will can’t help but notice the flecks of red surrounding his pupils. “Excellent deduction, Mr. Graham. I may have underestimated you.”

“People often do,” he replies, unnerved. Something isn’t right, but Will can’t seem to put his finger on what it is.

“I’m sure my young admirer faces that same problem – being underestimated, overlooked. I can appreciate imitation when it is done with the hope of bettering oneself.”

“You appreciate creativity more, rather than someone simply _parroting_ you.”

Lecter tilts his head. “That _is_ true, to some extent.” He then licks his lips, startling the profiler.

Will pulls himself away from the glass, unsure how he came to stand so close to it in the first place.

Lecter merely looks at him, eyes trailing over his face almost _hungrily._

Will suddenly wants to be anywhere else. “Thanks for talking to me. Have a good night,” he says out of habit, then turns to leave without waiting for Lecter’s reply.

“Oh, I _certainly will._ Do be careful driving home, Mr. Graham,” the doctor calls, mocking once again.

Will bristles, and his steps quicken just a bit as he walks back to the front desk to hand in his visitor’s pass. He notes that the guards must have changed shift when he sees the slouching guard from before has been replaced by a black man with a thick beard. The new guard gives him a friendly smile and a wave on his way out. Will nods at him, too unnerved to smile back.

He hurries down the stairs to the parking lot and gets into his car.

Lecter’s parting words are still ringing in his ears when he spies movement in his rear view mirror, and later he’ll kick himself for not checking the backseat before getting in, but at that moment he feels something wrap around his neck, choking him, and he reacts.

His hands don’t touch the rope. He has no leverage to pull it away, but he does have thumbs, and he feels no remorse when he reaches back to where his attacker’s face is and manages to plunge one into his soft, vulnerable eyeball.

His assailant screams and drops the rope to clutch at his wounded eye while Will twists around and lands a punch to his temple. It sends the man sprawling across the seats, and his whimpers of pain finally cease.

Will recognizes him immediately, and mentally smacks himself for not seeing the obvious.

It’s the guard from earlier – the one with the attentive gaze. No _wonder_ Lecter had been so amused. Will had passed by the very man he came to question the doctor about. And of course the doctor knew. He’d just as well assured that the copycat would know Will wouldn’t be missed at home. If he’d been a little less eager…had waited until Will let his guard down a bit…

_Very sloppy. My father wouldn’t approve._

Will grits his teeth as he tries to rid himself of that thought. He grabs his phone with shaking hands and calls the number Jack Crawford left for him in the casefile.

“Agent Crawford? It’s Will Graham. I just found your copycat.”


	2. A Man Will Cleave To His Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I'm battling a cold and barely slept last night, so here's hoping I didn't make any obvious mistakes while editing.
> 
> Here's another chapter of Lecter being a smug asshole and Will being sassy.

It only takes a few weeks for Crawford to come crawling back, hoping for Will’s help on a new case.

It goes against his better judgement, but Will finds himself trekking through the fallen leaves as they make their way to a crime scene.

It’s a mess. Bodies ripped open. Organs strewn about. It looks like the work of a wild animal.

It’s not, though. Will knows it isn’t even before his gift helps him recreate the crime scene. An animal wouldn’t have been so wasteful as to leave so much meat behind. A bear would have dragged its victims into the nearby woods to eat, not leave them exposed like this in an open field, free for other predators or scavengers to feed on.

Plus, there’s a terrifying amount of _intelligence_ in this. It’s easy to picture himself stalking the young couple, hidden by the foliage. He waits until he is noticed. Wants to see the _fear_ in his victims’ eyes as they realize they aren’t alone. He attacks the man first, eliminating the biggest threat, letting the woman run. She falls, hard enough to break her nose, loses consciousness. He waits for her to wake up before he starts _bitingclawing_ _ **ripping!**_

Will snaps back to the present with a gasp, earning himself a few concerned glances from Crawford’s team – Katz, Price, and Zeller. They’re huddled by one of the cars, waiting for him to finish so they can examine the scene more closely.

He gives them a nod and walks back to Crawford, relays what he knows, and asks to be kept updated if they learn anything, then he goes home.

 

He’s called in two days later. Price and Zeller got a match on the bite wounds, but unless cave bears have suddenly returned after twenty-eight thousand years – and have somehow increased their bite strength immensely – they’re looking for someone with engineering prowess, access to fossils, and, more than likely, a history of mental illness.

Will finds himself reluctantly trailing after Crawford as the man marches into the Museum of Natural History. There’s a white-haired man in a suit putting together the skeleton of a sabretooth cat. Crawford makes a beeline for him, flashes his badge, and starts his interrogation. The older man is nervous about being questioned, but he doesn’t ping Will’s radar as a potential suspect. Too old. Too much like prey. The person they’re looking for will be a quiet predator. Patient and cunning.

He wanders around the room, peering at the fossilized skeletons surrounding him. He has to restrain himself from running his finger over the sharp tooth of the sabretooth cat.

His cell phone rings, and Crawford shoots him a glare for the interruption, but Will is already moving away to find a quiet place to talk. He welcomes the distraction.

“Hello?” he answers, wondering if it’s one of his braver students calling him to ask for an extension on an assignment. He’s grateful enough that he might actually grant it.

“ _Good afternoon,_ Will.”

He knows that voice, and he can’t stop himself from inhaling sharply at the sound of it. “Dr. Lecter?” he breathes, then clears his throat and asks in a firm voice, “How did you get this number?” His eyes dart around the empty hallway, wary of eavesdroppers.

“ _That’s hardly important, Will._ ”

He’s pretty sure that it _is,_ but also certain that Lecter won’t admit how he did it. “Okay, so why are you calling me?”

“I was concerned. You haven’t come back to see me. I was hoping you would.”

Will pulls his phone away from his ear and glares down at it for a moment before responding. “You sent Matthew Brown to kill me the day we met. Why would I even _want_ to see you again?”

The doctor makes a pleased sound, almost like a hum. “ _I did, didn’t I? You did an excellent job disabling him, by the way. I heard he nearly lost his eye, not to mention the subdural hematoma. You throw a mean punch for a teacher._ ”

Will feels sick. The doctor is actually _praising him_ for almost mutilating Brown. He’d known about the eye, but he didn’t realize he’d actually made the man’s _brain bleed._

His lip curls in distaste. “You know, getting compliments from you really makes me want to take a shower.”

Lecter makes another humming sound, but this time Will notices another, quieter sound accompanying it. He listens closely, but can’t quite make it out.

“ _Are you working on a new case for Jack Crawford?_ ” Lecter asks, remaining disturbingly friendly despite Will’s surly responses.

Will considers hanging up, but he _really_ doesn’t want to go back to Crawford just yet. He just wants to go back home to his dogs and leave the investigative work to the proper authorities. He shouldn’t even be here.

“I’m just standing around in a museum,” he says glibly.

Lecter doesn’t respond for a moment, but then he asks, “ _Did you suddenly gain an interest in cave bears?_ ”

Will freezes and has to remind himself to take a breath. “How do you know about that?” he hisses.

Lecter sounds smug when he answers. “ _Come see me and I’ll tell you. Goodbye, Will._ ” With that, he hangs up.

 

Despite Will’s reservations, Crawford actually manages to get a name out of the nervous museum caretaker. Randall Tier is now their lead suspect, but his house has been abandoned for days, likely since news of the dead couple made it onto _TattleCrime._

It’s early the next morning, and Will is glaring into a cup of lukewarm coffee, trying to finish grading papers that should’ve been done _yesterday._ Clarice Starling’s insight makes him smile, though. He likes the kid – probably because of their similar backgrounds – and if she learns to rein in her temper, he can see her going far. He’s writing a comment on her paper – a rarity for him – when Crawford marches into his office, Alana right on his heels with a concerned expression on her face.

He sighs and shoves the papers away. “What _now,_ Jack?”

“You tell me,” he orders, and drops a folder onto Will’s desk.

It’s nearly bursting with loose papers, and Will frowns, opening it up to look at them. His eyes go wide and he slams it shut quickly, feeling his cheeks burn with humiliation.

“What _is this?_ ” he demands, although part of him already knows. The folder is full of charcoal drawings of _Will,_ and if the first picture is anything to go by, they’re basically illustrations of semi-tasteful pornography.

“That’s what _I’d_ like to know.” Crawford puts his hands on Will’s desk and makes a show of looming over him. “Lecter’s been drawing these since you talked to him, and now _Chilton’s_ telling me that he was the one who called you yesterday.”

“Jack, that’s not Will’s fault,” Alana interjects, glaring at him.

“I’m not finished,” he replies, not even looking at her.

Will starts to sweat. Jack can intimidate even _him_ when he puts his mind to it.

“Tabitha Rosier told me that you asked her to get a sample of Lecter’s DNA over the summer.”

Alana blinks in surprise. This is news even to her, and she looks a little unsure about how she should react.

Will doesn’t say anything, just adjusts his glasses to cut off Crawford’s expression, until the man snatches them off his face and tosses them to the floor.

Rage wells up inside him and nearly boils over before he makes himself take a deep breath. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re accusing me of, Jack.” His tone reveals none of his anger. To those present, he appears perfectly in control.

“I want to know why you’re so interested in Hannibal Lecter.”

“I’m not,” he states.

Crawford slams his hand down on Will’s desk hard enough to knock his pencil case over. “Bullshit!” He shoves himself away and stands up to his full height. “You think I haven’t noticed how much you know about him? You didn’t work his case, and yet you understand him better than I do!”

“Understanding murderers is my _job,_ Jack.”

“What was the DNA sample for?”

Will gazes at him steadily, keeping his hands folded on his desk. “It’s private.”

“I can get a warrant to search your house, Graham,” he threatens.

Will’s heart stops for a second. He never disposed of the test results. They’re tucked away in a steel box on a shelf in the living room. There are no names written on it for privacy reasons, but it would be just his luck for Jack to make the connection.

His nails dig into his palms. “On what grounds? You still haven’t told me what you’re accusing me of.”

“I can figure out _something,_ because apparently you’ve been _consorting_ with Hannibal Lecter behind my back! What the hell were you two even talking about yesterday?”

“He wanted me to visit him. I told him I didn’t want to, you know, because of the whole _he sent a killer after me_ thing. He implied he knew something about the case.”

Crawford glares at him. “Implied how?”

Will stares back, unflinching. “He mentioned cave bears.”

“And you didn’t think to inform me?”

“You had a name, Jack. And how exactly would Lecter know where Randall Tier is?”

Alana chooses that moment to speak up. “Dr. Lecter treated Randall when he was a teenager, Will. He might know where he would go. He may have even warned him about the FBI.”

Will takes a moment to process that, and then looks down at his hands, irritated. As long as Tier is free, more people will die. He’s gotten a taste for flesh. He won’t stop on his own.

There’s really no choice.

“This doesn’t leave the room,” he says firmly, standing up to shut his door.

Crawford watches him carefully. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Will gives him a look so vicious that Crawford actually takes a step back. “This _doesn’t…leave…the room,_ ” he repeats.

Crawford looks a bit uncomfortable, and Alana is definitely nervous.

“Are you in some sort of trouble, Will?” she asks.

“No,” he answers, leaning against the wall. “But some people would be happy to _make_ trouble for me if they knew about our…about me and Lecter.” He grimaces, seeing the confusion and suspicion on their faces. A sigh leaves him, and he shuts his eyes. “I needed his DNA for a paternity test.”

Unsurprisingly, Jack breaks the silence first. “ _What?_ ”

Will’s smile is brittle and strained. He stares up at the ceiling as he speaks. “Before my dad died, he told me that my mother had sex with a medical student in France and got pregnant with me. Said his name was Hannibal Lecter.” He shrugs. “I didn’t care. Edric Graham is the man who raised me. Lecter’s just a one-night stand. I never bothered looking him up until I saw his face on the news.” He risks glancing down, and isn’t surprised by Crawford’s appalled expression.

Alana looks horrified, but also sympathetic. She was mentored by Lecter while in medical school. She understands what it’s like to have someone you thought you knew turn out to be a complete stranger.

“What did the test say?” she asks gently, taking a step towards him and putting a hand on his arm.

He looks down at it, studying the way her fingers curl around his forearm. “It was a match,” he says, unleashing his brittle smile again. “Probably explains a lot about me…why I’m so fucked up.”

“You’re _not,_ ” she says sternly, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re a good person. You help people. Hannibal is a narcissistic sociopath who doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself! He probably only drew those pictures to get you in trouble for his own entertainment.”

Will had almost forgotten about those, but now he gives the folder a searing glare. “I really hope so. I’d rather not think about the alternative.”

Alana flinches, biting her lip again. “It’s not as uncommon as you’d think…for people in your situation to develop a sexual attraction to family members that they’ve been separated from. You get the similarities that make a person appealing as a potential mate, yet lack the early family bonding that supresses the urge to act on those desires.”

Will’s lip turns up in disgust as he remembers the way Lecter had _leered_ at him through the glass. “There’s nothing like that on my end. All I see when I look at Lecter are his hands coated in blood.”

“Could we use this?” Crawford asks, barreling his way back into the conversation. “Convince Lecter to give Randall Tier up by telling him about your connection?”

“We don’t _have_ a connection, Jack,” Will insists, crossing his arms. “He fucked my mom once. Probably doesn’t even remember her name. It’s meaningless to him.”

“It might not be,” Alana says, hesitant.

Jack turns on her. “What do you mean?”

She takes a breath and removes her hand. Will can still feel his arm burn where she touched him.

“Dr. Lecter was never given any official diagnoses, but he fits the criteria for narcissistic personality disorder almost perfectly.” She gives Will a sympathetic look as she explains. “Some narcissists, when they have children, see them as an extension of themselves. Their child’s achievements are the _parent’s_ achievements.” She bites her lip. “He might be willing to help you, if only to feed his ego. You’ll have to tell him the truth, though.”

He’s shaking his head in denial before she even finishes. “Not a chance. He’d tell someone, and then everyone would find out, and I’d never have any peace.” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “People already think I’m crazy. I’d rather they not look at me and see another Hannibal Lecter in the making.”

Jack’s phone chooses that moment to ring, and he answers it without even glancing at his two companions. His expression darkens as he listens to the caller, and gruffly tells them he’s on his way.

“Tier’s struck again,” he states, giving Will an impatient glare. “Exactly how many bodies is it going to take to get you to stop him?”

“Jack, that’s not fair!” Alana protests. “It might not even work. Dr. Lecter could just be toying with him.”

Will frowns. He’s not a big fan of being _toyed with._

“I’ll talk to him,” he says. “But I won’t reveal our… _relationship_ …unless I have no choice.”

He tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut as he thinks about what he’s agreed to.

 

“I must admit, Will, I’m _surprised_ you’d be willing to talk to Dr. Lecter again, especially considering how this looks.”

Chilton gives him a smirk, but Will manages to keep his face carefully blank.

“It doesn’t matter to me how it looks, as long as Lecter agrees to help me find Randall Tier,” he answers.

The administrator nods eagerly, still smirking. “Of course, of course. You do what you must to protect the public. Unfortunately, Lecter had a few…stipulations in regards to whether he would give up anything about Mr. Tier. I hope you like lobster.”

 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Will mutters in disbelief, seeing a table set for two – along with a set of chains tethering Lecter’s arms and legs to his chair. There’s a large plate with a steaming lobster in the middle, along with two glasses of water.

“I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Graham,” his escort, Barney – the friendly guard from his first visit – says. “Dr. Lecter insisted, and considering he probably knows where Randall Tier is hiding, I think some good food is a small price to pay for capturing him before he hurts anyone else.”

Will grits his teeth. “Still, a _candlelit dinner._ I’m having a hard time telling myself that I shouldn’t just break his nose and leave.”

“ _Don’t_ put your hands anywhere near his face,” Barney warns him. “In fact, try not to lean over too far either. The chains should stop him from reaching you, but only if you maintain your distance. If he asks you to hand him anything, don’t. I’ll be right outside, but he’s quick. I’d rather you don’t lose any fingers, or worse.”

Will swallows, but finally opens the steel door that leads into the room Lecter bargained for. There are no cameras here. It’s probably the most privacy he’s had in months.

Lecter smiles pleasantly as he approaches. “Good afternoon, Will. I’d pull out your chair for you, but I’m afraid my range of motion is somewhat limited.” He lifts his hands, rattling the chains around his wrists.

Will doesn’t smile back, looking at the table disdainfully. “You’re _seriously_ going to make me play along with this?”

Lecter just continues to smile. “I so rarely have the chance to eat decent food with pleasant company anymore, so yes, I am. Do make yourself comfortable, Will.”

He pictures himself jamming a fork into Lecter’s neck and slumps down in his chair.

“You should try the lobster. It was cooked exactly to my specifications.”

Biting his tongue to keep from uttering a snappy retort, Will reaches out and pulls off one of the crustacean’s arms. He deposits it onto his plate and cracks open the claw, being careful of the sharp bits, to reveal the meat inside. He prefers it plain, though there’s a bowl full of melted garlic butter for flavouring. It does smell delicious. He’s had lobster before, when he and his dad were lucky enough to catch one in their fishing nets. Most of the time they sold them, though.

Lecter’s gaze doesn’t leave him as he takes a bite. “Do you like it?”

It’s probably the best thing he’s eaten in years, soft and tender enough that his plastic utensils cut right through.

“Not bad,” he answers, taking another bite. He hasn’t eaten much today, just a slice of toast and too much coffee.

Lecter nods, savouring the next bite. He takes a sip of water and frowns. “A glass of champagne would be a better pairing, but Dr. Chilton is rather strict about not allowing alcoholic beverages in the hospital.”

Will scoffs. “Right, like _he_ doesn’t keep a bottle of chardonnay in his desk.”

Lecter smiles again, eyes bright with mirth. “Indeed, I’ve noticed lately the only time he can bare to be in my presence is when he is slightly intoxicated. Breath mints do nothing to mask the scent of it from me, of course.”

“Well, I’d say it’s not you, it’s him, but considering…”

“For someone who came here to ask me for help, you seem to be going out of your way to offend me,” Lecter states.

“I’m not big on insincerity,” he replies, setting his fork and knife down. “Besides, I’m pretty sure drawing a bunch of gay porn about me is a _little bit_ more offensive than me pointing out how people don’t really want to deal with a manipulative serial killer when they’re sober.”

“I assure you, it was not meant to be offensive in the slightest.” Lecter leans forward, his gaze wandering over the profiler’s face. “You are an exceptionally beautiful man, Will. I’ve found myself unable to stop thinking of you since the day we met.”

Will tries to keep the disgust off his face, but doesn’t quite manage it. “If that’s true, then being stuck in prison has obviously lowered your standards.”

“I am not referring solely to your physical appearance, though you are certainly attractive.” Lecter stares into Will’s eyes, and against his better judgement, Will looks back.

For a moment, he feels like he can see himself from Lecter’s perspective – introverted yet insightful, vicious when necessary in both words and actions. It paints an interesting picture in his mind of Lecter peeling his skin off to see what’s inside him.

He looks down, unnerved, and grumbles, “What? Is it my _charming_ personality?”

“You _do_ have a certain charm, but I’m far more interested in your empathic gift. When you spoke to me the first time, I felt like I was being flayed alive under your gaze.” Despite the description, Lecter is practically beaming at him.

Will shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “It’s not much of a gift, but it has its uses,” he says vaguely.

“Like a chair made of antlers. Grotesque, but useful.” Lecter smiles as Will’s head shoots back up, surprise visible on his face. “There’s not much written about you, Mr. Graham, and most of what is, is clearly speculation by subpar psychiatrists like Dr. Chilton. They talk of your ability as if it is simply logical deduction paired with a good imagination, but it’s much more than that, isn’t it? You don’t just reconstruct crime scenes, you _relive_ them. You don’t just _think_ like a killer, you _become_ them.” His head tilts to the side, and his smile grows just a bit sharper. “I believe I witnessed just a taste of that when you spoke to me. There was a moment where, as I looked at you, I felt as if I was staring at my own reflection.”

Will presses his lips together in displeasure, feeling himself start to sweat. “Might want to be careful, Doctor; if I remember my mythology correctly, Narcissus fell in love with his own reflection. It didn’t end well for him.”

“Narcissus was driven to despair because he could not reach out and _touch_ what he so desired,” Lecter responds, and that’s the only warning Will gets.

There are two distinct cracking sounds as Lecter dislocates his thumbs and pulls his hands out of his bindings. Will doesn’t have time to react before the doctor grabs a fistful of his shirt and hauls him halfway across the table.

Their faces are so close that Will can make out the fine lines on Lecter’s forehead. He cries out in shock, and his hands grip the table to keep himself from toppling over. His glasses slide off his nose, tumbling onto the table.

Lecter grins at him, and a hysterical thought runs through Will’s mind, _Papa, what big_ _**teeth**_ _you have!_

He squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting the last thing he sees before he dies to be his father ripping his throat out.

Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. Instead, Lecter draws him closer and presses their mouths together in a mockery of a kiss. He uses his other free hand to gently brush a lock of Will’s hair behind his ear. His tongue slips between Will’s teeth and brushes along his inner gum-line.

Will doesn’t think. He just reacts. Biting down hard and scissoring his teeth, he nearly severs the tip of Lecter’s tongue.

Then Barney is there, pulling Lecter back by his hair and snapping a new pair of cuffs around his wrists. “Dr. Lecter, I _will_ break your arm if you don’t let go of him.”

“Of course, Barney.” Lecter releases Will’s shirt, seeming not at all upset as blood drips down his chin from his wounded tongue. It’s already started to swell. Even his accent sounds thicker.

Will backs away so quickly he nearly falls over his chair. He steadies himself, lungs heaving, and presses his fingers to his lips, looking down at them in horror as they come away covered in blood.

“Are you alright, Mr. Graham?” Barney asks after cuffing Lecter’s hands back to the chair’s arms, looking at Will with obvious concern. He picks up Will’s fallen glasses and hands them to him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he answers, wiping his mouth off on the sleeve of his plaid shirt. It only leaves a bit of a stain, but Will – who never throws out clothing until it’s more holes than fabric – decides he’s going to burn it the second he gets home. He slips his glasses back on, making sure the frames cut off Lecter’s face.

“Okay, then.” Barney nods, still keeping a careful eye on him. “I’m going to escort Dr. Lecter back to his cell now.”

Will holds up his hand to stop him before he can even think about his actions. “Wait! Wait, wait. I just need…just give me a few more minutes with him, please.”

Barney looks surprised. “You’re sure?”

 _No._ “Yes, I’ll be fine.” He tries to smile, but it feels as brittle as ever, and Barney looks far from reassured.

“Alright,” he answers, reluctant. The guard gives Lecter a stern look. “If you try something like that again, Dr. Lecter, I’m taking you back to your cell. No more chances.”

Lecter smirks, looking utterly satisfied with himself. “I’ve had my fill, Barney. I’ll behave myself from now on.”

Barney shakes his head, giving Will another concerned look, before readjusting Lecter’s restraints and returning to his vigil outside the door.

Will collapses into his chair, making sure to put as much distance between him and Dr. Lecter as he can. He rubs his eyes, feeling a tension headache starting.

“I apologize if I frightened you, Will. I assure you, I had no intention of harming you,” Lecter states, still unbearably smug as he stares at him.

Will glares at him through his eyelashes. “Just tell me where Randall Tier is, and we’ll call it even.”

The doctor tsks, though the sound is somewhat difficult to make with his wounded tongue. “You can’t expect me to give him up that easily, Will. Randall’s little killing spree is providing endless entertainment.”

Will bristles. “What do you want in exchange for his location?” he grumbles.

“Your home address.”

He sits up in surprise. “Ex _cuse me?_ ”

Lecter’s lips twitch in amusement. “I’d like your home address. With your occupation, it’s not feasible for you to visit me every day, so I think we should exchange letters.”

Will drops his face into his hands and lets out a miserable laugh. He rakes his fingers through his hair and sits up straight again. “I’m not telling you where I live,” he says flatly, face blank.

Lecter merely nods. “Then I suppose Randall will continue to wreak havoc for some time,” he answers, false sympathy coating his tone.

Will grimaces, rubbing his eyes again. He sees the couple from the woods, their blood staining the fallen leaves. His conscience won’t allow him to walk away without Randall’s location.

Of course, his common sense won’t let him give a sociopath his address either.

He crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. He doesn’t care that he looks defensive. He needs all the barriers he can get.

“Do you remember meeting a woman named Emmeline Rideau when you were attending medical school in Paris?” Will asks bluntly, wanting to get it over with, like ripping off a bandage. He certainly _feels_ wounded.

Lecter’s eyes widen momentarily, and Will thinks it’s the first time he’s ever been truly surprised.

He gains control of himself quickly, of course, and smiles pleasantly. “You’ve certainly done some digging into my past, Will. Perhaps you’re developing a bit of an obsession.” He sounds pleased by the prospect, and Will glowers at him in response.

“Is that a yes?” he asks, not wanting to be derailed again.

Lecter nods again, eyes never straying from Will’s face. “Yes, indeed. I remember Emmeline. She was visiting her cousin. It was clear the woman was trying to set Emmeline up with her oafish friend, but she wasn’t having it. She ended up in the emergency room after punching him so hard she dislocated two of her fingers.”

Will tries to reconcile the image of his mother as a young, hot-tempered free spirit with the sad, withdrawn woman from his early memories. It’s more difficult than he anticipated.

He’s also surprised that Lecter remembers his mother’s name. It probably has less to do with any real affection for her than it is a sign of Lecter’s excellent memory.

“Why the interest?” Lecter probes with a cruel smirk. “Worried I’ll grow bored of you and go running back to an old flame?”

Will scoffs. “Not even slightly. I only asked because she’s my mother.”

Lecter freezes, eyes wide as they trace Will’s features. “I can see the resemblance,” he admits. Will can practically hear the cogs turning in his mind. “How old are you, Will?”

Will smiles bitterly. “Thirty-four. I was born in June. You can do the math.”

Lecter nods slowly, face utterly blank. After a moment of silence, he finally asks, “How long have you known about me?”

He shrugs. “A few years now. I never bothered to look you up until I saw you on the news.”

“Why not?”

Will’s expression hardens. “I had a father. I didn’t need a stranger trying to replace him.”

“Very loyal. He must have been a very kind and patient man to raise a child like you.”

“He did a better job than you ever could,” Will jibes.

Lecter frowns at him. “At the very least, I would have taught you some better manners,” he chastises.

Will huffs, rolling his eyes. “Not likely.”

The doctor’s head tilts to the side, and Will suddenly feels pierced by his gaze. “Why did you choose to reveal our relationship now?”

He decides to tell the truth. Maybe that’s a mistake, but Will has a feeling Lecter will respond better to honesty than carefully crafted lies. “Aside from me hoping you’ll knock off the flirting now, Dr. Bloom thought it would make you more cooperative.”

Lecter’s eyes light up, and a sharp smile spreads across his face. “Oh, and how long has _Dr. Bloom_ been aware of our relationship?”

“Since this morning. Crawford wanted to know why I ordered a sample of your DNA.” Will’s face scrunches up in disgust. “He assumed my interest was romantic, not…familial.”

Lecter smirks again, regaining his composure at last. “Did you have doubts or hopes?”

“About whether or not you were my biological father?” he asks, receiving a nod of confirmation. “I just…” He trails off, biting his lip in annoyance. “I guess I just wanted to know for sure.”

“Curiosity,” Lecter nods, smiling smugly. “Did you study my face and compare it to your own? I think we have similar noses, though mine has unfortunately been broken several times, so it may not be immediately apparent. You do strongly resemble your mother. I think you have her eyes…” Lecter’s smile dims suddenly, before dropping away entirely.

Will feels concern bubble up inside him without his consent. He meets Lecter’s gaze warily.

“I was mistaken,” Lecter says, voice lacking inflection. “The colour isn’t quite right. Too much gray, like a storm above the churning ocean.”

“…Thanks?” he replies, unable to decipher the look on his father’s face.

Lecter stares at him a moment longer, and then looks down at his plate. The lobster has long-since gone cold, but he takes another bite, as if trying to distract himself. He chews and swallows methodically, then places his fork and knife on the plate.

“Randall was a difficult child,” he says, apropos of nothing. “I didn’t meet him until he was a teenager, but his problems started long before adolescence. When he was five, he had a habit of biting the other children in his kindergarten class. One in particular stood out to him. He told me her name – Chloe Duchenne. He said she brought out the animal in him. Her wide eyes and nervous disposition made her seem like prey. He bit her over a dozen times before he was removed from school entirely.”

Will blinks, struggling to keep up with the shift in topic. “You think he’s going after her _now,_ after all these years?”

Lecter’s mouth turns up, but it doesn’t look anything like a true smile. “Randall may have evolved, but he is still a product of his experiences. Ms. Duchenne helped him realize what he was – an animal in human form. He has unfinished business with her. I daresay his bite is much worse these days, and he has a head start. You had better run along to Uncle Jack and tell him before it’s too late.”

“How the hell would Randall even find her?”

Lecter’s smile grows a little more sincere. “It’s amazing what sort of information people put on Facebook.”

Will frowns, and slowly stands up. “Thank you…for the help.”

Lecter nods. “Come see me when you catch him. I’d love to speak with you again.”

Will shoves his hands into his pockets, feeling almost guilty. “I’m not sure if that’s–”

“Please,” the doctor interjects, looking up at him. “It would make me far more likely to assist in other cases which may require my insight.”

He looks away. “Fine,” his mouth answers, to his surprise. “When we catch him, I’ll tell you all about it.”

True pleasure bleeds onto Lecter’s face. “I’m looking forward to it. Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the cat's out of the bag. Poor Will. He suffers so much. At least the two of them have their creepy metaphors and allusions to mythology to help them understand each other.
> 
> The thing Alana was talking about - how family members can sometimes develop a romantic/sexual attraction to each other when they lack familial bonds - that's a real thing. It's called genetic sexual attraction. It's rare, though a lot of times it happens without a person being aware of it, such as in cases of siblings who were raised apart or adopted into different families at a young age. It's possible that it's a type of attachment disorder, like maybe they're mistaking familial affection for romantic/sexual attraction because they lack the necessary exposure to instigate reverse sexual imprinting. It's a complicated issue, and it's also the reason why I refuse to ship anyone from the new Star Wars movies until Disney releases their family trees.
> 
> Well, Adieu, my faithful readers.
> 
> *Oh, and if any of my artistically inclined readers get the urge to draw some examples of Lecter's semi-tasteful pornography, I'd certainly appreciate a link. ;) https://gweezle.tumblr.com


	3. What Fellowship Hath The Wolf With The Lamb?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I caught a few errors while editing this, so hopefully that means I'm not completely stoned on cold meds yet.
> 
> Maybe I spoke too soon. I'm starting to feeling drowsy. Ah, well, one chapter left after this, and then we can all go to hell together, (seriously, ALL THE WARNINGS for next chapter).
> 
> More smug Lecter, and more sassy Will.

It’s the middle of the night when Will’s dogs wake him from a dead sleep.

Buster is barking up a storm, scratching at the front door anxiously. Winston is hovering by the couch, looking at Will for guidance. The rest of the pack is clustered behind Buster, their backs straight, trying to make themselves look bigger, and snarling in warning.

Will pulls on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and looks out the window. Last time Buster got this wound up, Will discovered that a bear was lumbering around his front yard, digging into the trash bin. It had wandered away eventually, but the dogs had been nervous for days afterwards.

He squints through the darkness, but can’t see much with all the trees. He grabs his rifle just in case. He’d prefer not to kill anything, but a warning shot isn’t out of the question. Most animals will run away at the sound of a gunshot.

Will knows he should just stay inside, but the dogs are getting more agitated by the second. He reaches out to pet them soothingly, but it does little to alleviate their distress.

“It’s okay, guys. I’ll deal with it.” He’s still half-asleep, so it surprises him when Buster manages to shove through the crack in the doorway and goes racing into the woods. He holds back the rest of the pack, slips on a pair of shoes, and rubs his eyes in irritation as he makes it outside. “ _Buster! Come!_ ”

The little dog ignores him, too caught up in barking at whatever’s lurking out in the darkness to listen. Will sighs heavily, making sure his gun is loaded before starting to follow the racket back to his wayward pet.

Suddenly, Buster’s barking cuts off with a loud yelp and then there is silence. Will feels his heart stop, wondering if the hyper Jack Russell actually _did_ run into a bear. He takes off running, following the scattered leaves that lead directly to a clearing. He spies Buster laying down in a pile of leaves and recognizes the shining, black liquid on his fur as blood.

Will looks around, wary of whatever attacked his dog. There doesn’t seem to be anything around, but then Buster growls, narrowing his eyes at a patch of darkness, and Will spies something move through the trees.

At first, he thinks it’s a bear, just as he suspected, but as he listens, he hears something that sounds like…hydraulics.

Panic and fury war within him for a split-second, and then he’s racing back to his house, arms full of dog. He can’t hear anything over the sound of his racing heart and heavy breathing, but he can _easily_ imagine the sound of his pursuer.

He shoves the door open, for once ready to _kick_ his dogs if that’s what it takes to keep them inside and out of danger.

With Buster tucked into his doggy bed, Will hoists his rifle up, hands shaking with adrenaline. His other dogs are cautiously silent, looking towards him for protection. Zoe nuzzles Buster’s ear, trying to comfort the injured dog.

_Lecter, you bastard!_

Will feels positively animalistic himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry before in his life. His _dog…_

At that moment, Randall Tier – decked out in his bone-suit – bursts through the window to his left, sending glass scattering across the floor. Will jumps out of the way, falling onto his side. He points his gun at the mechanical monster invading his home, and pauses…

He gets to his feet and tosses his rifle away, barely processing his own actions. He feels a strange serenity settle over him, calming his breathing, slowing his heartbeat. He feels ready to destroy.

Tier lunges for him, sending his back crashing against the wall. The large, snapping jaws of the fossilized cave bear skull hover mere inches from his face, but Will can see the human eyes peering out from behind it.

A well-placed kick knocks Tier onto his back, and the suit is too heavy for him to climb to his feet before Will is on him.

For a second, Will sees his father’s face beneath him, and snarls viciously as he brings his fists down again and again, shattering the cave bear’s skull and what’s underneath, until Tier isn’t even _trying_ to get up anymore.

The anger is still there, though, and Will’s final action is to grab the skull and _twist._

It’s only when he hears a snap that he realizes what he’s done.

Randall Tier lies limp on his floor, his bone-suit in pieces, his face bloody and eyes wide in surprise.

“ _Oh, god…_ ” Will brings his hand up to his mouth, staring at Tier’s dead body. For a moment, he contemplates peeling off the younger man’s skin and fitting it over the sabretooth cat’s skeleton at the museum.

His father would love it.

Winston licks his cheek, and Will realizes with a start that he’s crying. He wipes his eyes furiously, regaining his composure. He knows what he has to do. He just isn’t looking forward to the reaction.

 

The dogs hover near him, with Max pacing back and forth around the ambulance, checking on the smaller dogs every few seconds to make sure they’re still there.

Will holds out his hands as a paramedic with long, blond hair tucked back in a ponytail talks to him in a soothing voice as she dabs his bleeding knuckles with alcohol swabs and bandages them up. He has a few more superficial wounds from the glass, but otherwise he’s perfectly fine.

 _Randall_ isn’t.

Crawford’s shaking his head as he comes out of Will’s house – the _crime scene_ – and makes his way towards him.

The paramedic gives him a smile, tells him to change the bandages before he goes to bed, and walks away.

Will doesn’t have the courage to meet Crawford’s gaze, so he stares at his hands until he hears a sigh.

“Okay, so what happened?”

He swallows. “He attacked my dog – we were outside – and then he burst into my house and tried to–” He licks his lips, feeling his throat tighten. “I fought him off. If I had stopped, I knew he would kill me, so I didn’t.”

He feels like a cliché. _I didn’t_ _**mean**_ _to kill my wife, officer. I was just so angry, and next thing I know, she was dead on the ground._

“I believe you,” Crawford assures him quickly. “What about Chloe Duchenne? Was Lecter lying about her?”

Will drops his head into his hands. “That’s just it, he never actually _said_ that Tier would go after her. I made that assumption, and he just went along with it.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s twice now he’s sent a murderer my way. Think maybe he’s worried about child support payments or something?”

Crawford doesn’t even crack a smile at his poor attempt at humour. “You think Lecter sent him?”

Will _knows_ he did. He nods. “Yes, I’m sure of it. Check his phone records, or his mail. There’ll be evidence of some sort of communication.”

“Why?” Crawford asks, and even through the haze of betrayal and grief, Will recognizes the confusion underneath his disgust. “Why would he try to kill his own child?”

Will flinches, glancing around to make sure no one overheard that. Everyone seems to be engrossed in their own work, thank goodness.

Crawford recognizes his mistake, and bows his head, looking almost ashamed. He puts his hand on Will’s shoulder and leans in. “Look, for what it’s worth, we got the bad guy. That’s the most important thing. Forget about Lecter.”

“I promised to go see him when Tier was caught,” he answers numbly. His front door opens then, and Winston lets out a whimper at the sight of Randall Tier’s body being transported outside on a stretcher.

Crawford glares at it angrily before turning back to Will. “You don’t owe him anything.”

Will gives Winston a scratch behind the ear, ignoring the corpse as it’s deposited into the back of an ambulance. “I’d say he owes _me_ an explanation,” he bites out, looking at Buster. The dog’s wounds are only shallow cuts, but the blood staining his fur still infuriates him.

Crawford sighs. “Alright, you’re an adult, and he’s…blood, I suppose. You want to see him? Go right ahead. If it were me, though, I’d stay the hell away from the crazy bastard.”

He can only nod in agreement. “Depending on what he says, I might do just that.”

 

It takes three days before Will manages to get an appointment with his father – luckily on one of Chilton’s vacation days. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with the obnoxious man.

Barney escorts him all the way to Lecter’s cell, perhaps feeling the need to offer him some reassurance after their previous interaction. Will doesn’t mind the company too much. Barney exudes peacefulness and compassion. He’s a breath of fresh air for someone like Will.

That sensation vanishes the moment he lays eyes on his father. His cell has been stripped of its books and drawings, but the desk is still there, and on it is a printed-out article from _TattleCrime,_ written by the worst tabloid journalist in existence – Freddie Lounds.

He has no idea how the woman managed to snap a picture of him without anyone noticing, and he’s too pissed off to care. The headline – IT TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE – is enough to make him see red. He already has the article memorized. _‘…using one demented mind to catch another…’_

Lecter smiles broadly when he sees him, getting up from behind his desk to stand near the glass, directly in front of the waist-high air holes. “Good afternoon, Will. I’m so pleased to see you again. And hello, Barney. How is your sister doing?”

“Much better, Dr. Lecter,” Barney replies, as friendly as ever. He glances at Will, concerned. “Would you prefer I stay?”

Will shakes his head, not taking his eyes away from Lecter’s face. “No, thank you. Actually, do you think you could turn the cameras off?”

“Sorry, Mr. Graham, not an option.” The guard’s mouth tightens. “I can turn the audio off for your visit if you want, but that’s all.”

Will nods. “That would be great. Thanks, Barney.”

The man puts his hand on Will’s shoulder, and it’s ten times as comforting as when Crawford did it. Will feels some of the tension leave him.

“Call me if you need me. I’ll be just down the hall. Enjoy your visit, Doctor.”

Both Will and Lecter give him simultaneous nods as he leaves, and Barney feels a chill run down his spine at the strange symmetry. He shakes his head and flicks the switch for the audio, giving them their privacy. He takes his seat at the guard station and keeps a close eye on the video feed. His instincts are telling him that something is going to go wrong; he just doesn’t know who the cause is.

 

Lecter’s eyes trace over Will, stopping at his hands. He removed the bandages this morning, but his knuckles are still cracked and scabbed.

“How have you been, Will? I was worried when you didn’t call.”

Will’s hands tighten into fists, breaking one of the thinner scabs open and causing blood to drip onto the floor.

“I was a little preoccupied.” He glares at the offensive article, wishing he had it in his hands so he could rip it up.

Lecter glances back at it, and for the first time seems a little upset. “Yes, I can see that. The press can be such _vultures,_ and Freddie Lounds in particular has a way with words. I must admit, when I first read the articles she wrote about you, I seriously considered eating her tongue.”

Will scoffs loudly. “Wow, how very protective of you, especially considering you sent Randall Tier to kill me in the first place.” Another scab cracks open, increasing the amount of dripping blood. He doesn’t even notice it beyond a faint stinging sensation.

Lecter studies the blood splattering the floor with clinical interest before looking back up at Will’s snarling face. “I didn’t necessarily send him with the express purpose of killing you.”

“Then _why?_ ”

The doctor tilts his head, and Will suddenly feels like a mouse pinned inside a raptor’s sharp claw, awaiting the moment when it will be torn to shreds.

“I was curious,” Lecter finally answers. “I wanted to see what you’d do.” He smiles then, pride shining in his red-brown eyes as he winks. “You didn’t disappoint. I knew you had it in you, _Son._ ”

He can’t stop the horror welling up in him as he processes that. “You sent…you wanted me to…” He takes a step closer to the glass, ignoring the sign warning visitors of the danger.

Lecter looks at his bleeding hand thoughtfully. “I see you injured yourself in the process, though. Ah, well. I didn’t exactly give you time to prepare, and it’s good that you work well under pressure. Don’t worry. It gets easier.”

Will lifts his hands out in front of him, stupefied, and Lecter reaches through the air hole, quick as a viper, and snatches the bloody one in a steely grip, pulling on it until Will’s face nearly slams into the glass.

Distantly, he hears the gate slam open as Barney barrels down the hallway, but all he can focus on is Lecter’s sigh of pleasure as the man drags his tongue along Will’s knuckles, cleaning off the blood like a mother cat grooming her kittens.

The image of Zoe nuzzling poor Buster flashes in his mind, and Will feels rage bubble up inside him, replacing his fear. His other hand goes through one of the holes and clenches around Lecter’s throat, digging in so hard it will no doubt leave bruises.

The doctor’s airflow is completely compromised, but he doesn’t panic like a normal person would. Instead, he grins, showing off his sharp eyeteeth, and leans in, as if trying to help Will get a better grip.

“Mr. Graham!” Barney yells, and pulls him away from the glass with ease. Lecter releases his hand without even the pretense of a fight.

Will glares daggers at the doctor, fists clenched and chest heaving. Lecter, for his part, looks perfectly composed as always. He lifts a hand to his reddened throat, tracing over the marks. His eyes are closed, expression blissful, and his smile is infuriatingly smug.

Barney keeps himself between them, holding Will’s upper arms with an alarmed expression. Will all but ignores him, only having eyes for his father.

“Are you okay, Mr. Graham?” the guard asks, checking him for injuries.

“I’m _fine,_ ” he bites out, wishing he could wipe that smile off Lecter’s face permanently.

Barney nods, not yet releasing him, and calls over his shoulder. “And you, Dr. Lecter? Are you okay?”

“I’m doing exceptionally well, Barney,” Lecter replies, oozing satisfaction. “My Will needs a bit more practice before he’ll be able to strangle someone to death singlehandedly.”

The possessive wording is the last straw.

“Go _fuck yourself!_ ” Will hisses, trembling with rage. His glasses slip down his nose and clatter to the ground. He hardly notices.

Lecter smirks, meeting Will’s furious gaze. “I’d much rather fuck _you,_ but I suppose I’ll have to settle for fantasies.”

Will feels like a switch in his brain has been flipped. His anger retreats, leaving only emptiness in its wake, and he drops his gaze to the floor. “I’m done with you.”

Lecter’s smile vanishes, but Will doesn’t even acknowledge it. Barney finally releases him, sensing the danger has passed, and Will bends down to pick up his glasses. He puts them back on meticulously before nodding to the guard. “I’m ready to leave.”

Barney looks unnerved, but nods back and begins leading him down the hallway.

Lecter is silent, but Will can feel the man’s gaze follow him until he’s finally out of sight.

“Sorry for the trouble, Barney,” he says emotionlessly. “I think it would be best if I didn’t come back. It was nice meeting you.”

Barney hesitates, before nodding in agreement. “You…might be right about that. I’m sorry he caused so much trouble for you, Mr. Graham.”

Will just looks out the window somberly. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have expected any different.” He sighs, turning back to Barney with a pained smile. “Just…promise me you’ll look after him.”

“That’s kind of my job, Mr. Graham.” But he smiles back, and Will feels a little better.

“Thank you. Goodbye, Barney.”

 

Florida is good for Will. Better yet, it’s good for the dogs. They spend their afternoons on a fishing boat, swimming in the shallow water to ward off the heat. Will catches dinner most of the time, but whenever he doesn’t, it’s just a short drive to the market. Molly Foster – a woman who works at one of the food stalls – always has a smile for him when he shows up.

Will left Wolf Trap mere weeks after Randall Tier’s attack. He didn’t feel safe in the house. He didn’t feel safe knowing that Lecter could be lining up a new murderer to come after him at any moment. Security had been beefed up around him, but Lecter’s too clever to let that stop him.

His new house is isolated in its own little corner on Sugarloaf Key, surrounded by trees and just a quarter-mile from the ocean. He has his own business repairing boat motors, but it’s more of a hobby than anything. He still gets the royalties for textbooks he’s helped write, and the money he earned from selling his old house mostly pays the bills. Sometimes he publishes papers for forensic scientists, using a middle-man to collect the cheques. He’s thinking of starting a garden and selling off the excess produce. Maybe Molly will help him with the details.

He feels better than he has in years. Sometimes, he thinks he might actually have a future here.

Will whistles loudly, catching his pack’s attention. “Come on, guys! Dinner!”

Seven balls of fur rush towards him. Sam has been rolling around in something stinky, and Will rolls his eyes before fetching the steel container he uses to bathe his rowdy pets. He keeps it in the shade, but he still tests the temperature before pulling it out. Grabbing the hose gets the pack’s attention, but they soon go back to digging in as he fills up the bath with soapy water.

“Come on, Sammy! In you get!” he calls, pointing at the bath.

Sam’s ear perk up, and then he’s racing forward, diving into the chilly water and sending it splashing over Will’s clothes.

He laughs good-naturedly, ditching his wet t-shirt and shorts, leaving only his damp boxers on as he gets down on his knees and scrubs the big dog with his hands.

“Need to give you a shave again, buddy. You must be too hot with all that fur.”

Sam merely pants happily, enjoying the cold water and the massage. Harley wanders over to sniff at the bubbles, before she dives in as well, nearly tipping the makeshift bath over.

Will laughs again, squeezing water out of his curls. “Alright, I get it! You’re hot too. Guess everyone needs a bath tonight.”

He spends an hour bathing each of them, and then ushers them into their room for bed. They have their own doggy door for late-night bathroom breaks, as well as central air to keep them cool.

He mentally counts to seven, smiling when they each go to their own beds, making it easier for him. “Night, guys. See you in the morning.”

He shuts the door behind him and heads over to his workbench to start on his new fishing lure.

The television sits silent in the corner. He hardly turns it on except to watch the odd fishing show. He avoids the news like the plague. He rarely goes to town except to get groceries. No one tells him about Buffalo Bill. News of his murder spree hasn’t reached this far south. Jack Crawford couldn’t find him when he needed advice, so when he turned to Dr. Lecter for help, he used one of Will’s old students to get the man to make a profile for him.

Crawford doesn’t know that Clarice Starling was one of the few students who Will actually deigned to speak to during office hours. He doesn’t know that they were almost friendly, and that before Will quit his job, he confessed to Clarice that he just wanted to move to an island down south, buy a fishing boat, and live the rest of his life in peace. He doesn’t know that Lecter once asked about Clarice’s favourite teacher, Will Graham, and what she thought happened to him.

He doesn’t know that Clarice told him the truth in an effort to get the doctor to cooperate. He doesn’t know that Lecter filed that information away for later.

He doesn’t have any way to warn Will Graham when his father escapes. In those first few weeks, he’s more concerned about keeping _Clarice_ from harm than worrying about a man who disappeared over six months ago. If _Crawford_ couldn’t find him with all the FBI’s resources, then how could Lecter?

Will has no idea what’s in store for him.

 

He dreams of a wendigo – long and gaunt, with enormous antlers and pitch black skin. He dreams he’s running through the forest, calling for his dogs, checking behind him whenever he sees motion out of the corner of his eye. The wendigo is gaining on him, but if he just finds his dogs, maybe they can fight him off together.

“ _Winston! Buster!_ ” He suddenly remembers Buster’s wounds from Randall Tier’s assault, and regrets calling for the little dog. Brave as he is, he’s no match for the creature behind him.

Then he trips, feels himself fall through the ground, and wakes up flat on his back with a gasp.

His bedroom is completely devoid of light – not even moonlight can get through the curtains – yet Will knows with certainty that he is not alone.

A shadow within a shadow seems to move, and Will sits up in bed, his head swivelling towards it. Part of him is convinced that the wendigo somehow followed him out of his dream.

And then he sees the knife.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he hisses, and rolls off the far side of the bed just as the shadow lunges for him. Will reaches underneath the bed, blindly feeling for his trusty rifle, but he doesn’t have a chance. A hand grabs him by the hair and pulls him back up until he’s laying sideways on his bed, staring up in horror as his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness and he recognizes the face of his assailant.

“Lecter?”

His bedside lamp switches on, and Will squints as the room is suddenly bathed in pale yellow light, illuminating his father’s face.

“Hello, Will. It’s so good to see you again.” He’s smiling, as if this is just a friendly chat, but Will feels the sharp edge of a knife at his throat, and panic starts to set in.

“What are you doing here? _How_ can you be here?” he asks, hysterical.

Lecter’s smile stiffens. He’s somehow managed to locate a dark blue, three-piece suit, and it brings out the flecks of red in his eyes more clearly than ever.

Will scrunches the blanket beneath his hands and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that this is just another nightmare. It’s hardly the first time he’s dreamt of his father killing him.

“Now, now,” Lecter chides, sliding the knife up to Will’s temple and brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead with the blade. “Look at me, it’s _rude_ to ignore one’s father.”

Will gasps in a breath, trying to push back the tears stinging his eyes as he opens them. He feels paralyzed under that gaze. Flashes of Lecter’s previous victims run through his mind. Knowledge of the _torture_ he inflicted before finally allowing them to die makes him tremble.

“That’s a good boy.” Lecter drags the knife slowly over Will’s face, taking care to leave not even a scratch. “I take it you haven’t watched the news lately?”

Will starts to shake his head, but thinks better of it and parts his lips instead, choking out a small, “ _No,_ ” before falling silent again.

Lecter tuts and puts his left hand on Will’s bare chest. “Your heart is racing,” he states, like Will doesn’t already know. A sly smile spreads across the doctor’s face, and he leans in a bit closer as if sharing a secret. “I would wager that it was perfectly steady when you killed Randall Tier.”

It’s true. Will has never felt calmer than in those moments when he had Randall Tier at his mercy.

He doesn’t respond, glaring sullenly at his father.

“It’s alright if you enjoyed it,” Lecter continues, and it would be almost comforting if not for the sharp flash of teeth. “Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?” He leans in even closer, until his face is all Will can see. “Are you not created in mine?”

The implications of those words infuriate him, and Will finally forces himself to move, uncaring as the knife scrapes against his collarbone, leaving only a miniscule scratch bubbling with blood. He grabs Lecter by his stuffy dress shirt and pulls him down, smashing his forehead against the doctor’s nose hard enough to stun him. When Lecter pulls back, he curls his leg up and then kicks out, heel-first, directly into Lecter’s stomach.

The doctor’s back hits the headboard, and Will scrambles off the bed, nearly tripping as he races out of the room, heading down the hallway towards the kitchen door. He doesn’t want to be wandering around at night with a serial killer without some form of protection, and a butcher knife is just what he needs. There’s one in the knife block, and he reaches out to grasp the wooden handle.

A thought strikes him then – that he needs to get his dogs to safety as well – and indecision makes him pause for just a second.

It’s all the time Lecter needs.

An arm wraps around his throat, and Will reaches up, releasing the knife to instinctively try to gauge his assailant’s eyes out, but Lecter is far more efficient than Matthew Brown could ever be. He grabs Will’s wrists in one hand and drags him down to the linoleum floor, covering him with his own body.

Will struggles to breathe, black spots appearing in his vision. He can hear one of the dogs start barking, and part of him hopes Lecter won’t harm _them_ at least.

Lecter releases his throat, and Will sucks in a grateful breath, still too light-headed to fight back. His relief turns to horror when he feels the prick of a needle as it sinks into his neck.

Lecter holds his head still, cheek pressed against the cold floor, until he finishes injecting him, and then smiles fondly as Will’s vision starts to swim.

“ _Just give that a moment…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo, this chapter is just _filled_ with Lecter being a snarky little dick, and getting beaten up like he so rightfully deserves. Also, happy fun times with doggies, because I needed _some_ levity in this.
> 
> Adieu, my faithful readers.


	4. So The Sinner With The Godly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! So, when I first started writing this, I had a pretty clear idea of how it would end, but then I actually _made it_ to the end, and realized a bit of ambiguity would make it more interesting.
> 
> There was a bit of a formatting error, so I redid this chapter. Hope it's okay.
> 
> Also, ALL THE WARNINGS for this chapter! Turn back while you still can! We are boarding the train to Hell!

Will doesn’t pass out, but for a while everything seems far away. He blinks, and he’s back in his room, sprawled out on his torn-up armchair as Lecter strips the old sheets off his bed and grabs some fresh ones from the linen closet.

He can guess why. Lecter always liked to have a tidy workspace when he killed.

He blinks again, and there’s a glass of red wine on the end table next to him. Lecter is perched on his bed, his suit jacket off and his dress shirt hanging open as he sips at his own glass. His chest hair is thick and wiry, another difference between them. Will barely has any hair on his torso at all.

Lecter glances at the clock and smiles at Will. “You should be coming down by now.”

He blinks stupidly, but this time there’s no jarring transition from passing time. “How long…” He blinks a few more times and tries to sit up, but his limbs feel like they’re made of lead.

“Less than an hour, I assure you. I had no intention of keeping you under for longer than necessary.”

Will nods, still feeling hopelessly slow and confused. “You gonna kill me now?” he asks, staring at the wine glass next to him. He doesn’t trust himself to be able to pick it up just yet.

Lecter smirks, picking up a butcher knife and walking towards the profiler. Will recognizes it as the one from his kitchen, and wonders if Lecter thinks it would be poetic justice to use Will’s own weapon against him.

Instead, the doctor kneels down and wraps Will’s limp fingers around it, helping him hold it in a loose grip. “Would you have killed me quickly, or would you have stopped to gloat?”

Will tries to clench his fist to no avail, so he settles on glowering at his father. “Does _God_ gloat?”

Lecter laughs softly, pulling the knife away. “Often.” He brushes Will’s bangs off his forehead, smiling up at him. “Would you like some wine?”

Will tries to shrug, but he can barely move his arms. He nods his head weakly and says, “Sure, why not?”

Lecter nods back and picks up the glass, holding it up to Will’s face as he takes a few tentative sips. His mouth is dry, and his lips are cracking. He licks them once he’s finished, and doesn’t miss Lecter’s gaze as it follows the action.

When the glass is empty, Lecter sets it back on the table and stands up. “Well, I’d say you’re coherent enough, so let’s get down to business.”

Will stiffens, but he can’t put up much of a fight as Lecter scoops him up with ease and carries him over to the bed. He lays him down gently, pausing to sniff his hair before turning around to walk towards what looks like a brown leather doctor bag.

Panic starts to fill him as Lecter carries it over to the bed and begins rifling through it with a smile. Will doesn’t even have the strength to lift his head to see what’s inside. His hands ball into loose fists and he squeezes his eyes shut again, too afraid to see whatever surgical instrument Lecter plans to end his life with.

“Ah, here we are,” Lecter says, satisfaction filling his voice.

Will flinches, but refuses to make a sound when he feels Lecter’s hand slide down his chest, trailing down further and further until it pauses at the edge of his boxers.

With practiced ease, Lecter removes them, and Will can’t stop himself from blushing horribly when he realizes that he’s now completely naked.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” the doctor breathes, tracing the blush with his fingers as it spreads down Will’s chest. “You’re so _responsive._ ”

The hand retreats for a moment, and Will finally cracks an eye open in time to see his father divesting himself of his dress shirt. When he begins undoing his belt, Will can’t hold his silence anymore. “What are you doing?”

Lecter glances over at him and smiles. “What I’ve wanted to do from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Somewhere in Will’s drug-addled mind, the meaning of that clicks home, and he suddenly realizes that murder isn’t the worst thing Lecter is capable of.

In seconds, he’s a hyperventilating mess. His hands claw uselessly at the bedsheets, and his muscles strain as he tries to force himself to his feet. It’s all for nothing. Lecter finishes undressing and returns to the bed, lifting Will’s legs up and wrapping them around his waist, manipulating him like a marionette.

“ _Shh,_ ” Lecter whispers, holding Will’s face in his hands as he leans over his prone body. “It’s alright, Will. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re going to _rape_ me,” he counters, following it with a miserable sob that makes his whole body shudder.

Lecter clicks his tongue, releasing Will’s face and placing his hands on his chest, rubbing circles around Will’s nipples with his thumbs.

“That is true, I suppose, but I’d much rather watch you writhe in pleasure than in pain.”

“I’d rather you kill me,” he says, trying not to react to the doctor’s touch. He glares up at him with red-rimmed eyes, wishing his arms would move so he could fight back.

Lecter lets out a thoughtful noise, tilting his head to the side as he studies the man beneath him. “No, I don’t think I will. I enjoy your company far too much to kill you. I suppose it’s to be expected. You are _mine_ after all.”

“I’m not,” he says, shaking his head in denial. “I’m not yours.”

“My blood,” Lecter proclaims. “My child. My _family._ ” For a moment, his gaze softens. “Mischa would have loved you. You have her eyes.”

Will’s empathy latches onto this – this sign of human emotion in his father’s eyes. “Who’s Mischa?” he asks softly, trying not to disturb the stillness in the air too much.

“…My sister,” Lecter whispers, his hands leaving Will’s chest to cup his shoulders instead.

Will gulps, but presses on. “I have an aunt?”

“… _Had._ ”

There’s so much sadness in that word that Will doesn’t have to fake his sympathy when he asks, “What happened to her?”

“She died when we were young…and then I ate her.”

Will shudders again and tries to sink further into the mattress. For a second there, he’d almost forgotten what Hannibal Lecter _is._

“Why?”

“Why did I eat her?” Lecter clarifies, massaging Will’s shoulders. “I suppose it was because I missed her. Her death hurt me terribly, and I wanted a part of her to stay with me forever.”

Will grimaces as the doctor’s talented fingers continue to unwind the knots of tension all the way down his arms. “Did you rape her too?”

Lecter pauses, but then continues with his efforts to relax him as he answers. “It never occurred to me to pursue a sexual relationship with her, willing or otherwise. I was quite young when she died. Perhaps if we had grown up together…”

With those words, Will tries to buck the man off him, but the effort leaves him exhausted. Lecter only smiles down at him, amused.

“You’re disgusting!”

“Now, now, don’t be rude.”

“Get off me! Just stop! Please… _please_ don’t do this.” Will can’t stop himself from begging. He’s never felt more helpless.

“You seem to be getting your strength back,” Lecter notes, speaking mostly to himself. “I suppose that means we had better get started.”

Will sobs again when the doctor reaches behind him and picks out a bottle from his doctor bag. “No, no, _don’t…_ ”

“Hush, now. It’ll feel wonderful, you’ll see.” He squeezes out a few dollops of what Will recognizes now as lubricant into his palm and rubs it over his fingers.

Will looks away. He doesn’t want to see this. He doesn’t want this to be real.

“Look at me, Will,” Lecter orders, perfectly at ease as he spreads Will’s legs apart even further, exposing his hole.

He shakes his head furiously, squeezing his eyes shut.

His mind slips back, back, back, until he’s at his father’s – his _real_ father’s – bedside.

He wishes he could take back the words that damned him – “ _What was his name? The med student?_ ” “ _Hannibal Lecter._ ”

Why hadn’t he just said it didn’t matter? Why did he have to ask?

A sharp stinging sensation brings him out of his thoughts, and he looks at his chest in time to see Lecter make a shallow cut with a scalpel just over Will’s heart.

“Stop!” he shouts, trying to squirm away.

Lecter smirks, depositing the blood-tinged scalpel right beside him. “There you are,” he says fondly, running his finger over the cut and bringing it up to his mouth to lick off the blood. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, looking immensely satisfied before returning his gaze to Will’s face. “No more hiding inside your head, Will. I want your complete attention.”

It’s excruciating, but Will doesn’t see any other option. Lecter is perfectly capable of extracting an entire organ while Will is still conscious if that’s what it takes to keep him focused.

He nods miserably, watching as Lecter’s fingers trail down into the cleft of his ass. The sensation makes him tense up, and Lecter tuts. “This is going to be much more painful than it needs to be if you don’t relax.”

Relaxing is the _last thing_ Will feels capable of doing right now.

“I – I _can’t…_ ” he pleads, face crumbling.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’ll help you.”

Lecter curls his hand around Will’s flaccid cock, startling the younger man.

“ _Please…no._ ”

“Hush, now,” Lecter replies softly, smirking as Will rapidly becomes erect. “You haven’t been touched in quite some time, I presume.” He looks up, and Will shakes his head in response. “Such a shame. My desperate little boy.”

Will shuts his eyes again, humiliated, but pries them back open when Lecter’s grip begins to grow too tight. The hand releases him completely, but he gasps when he feels the tip of a finger enter him.

“That’s better,” Lecter praises, sliding his middle finger in up to the second knuckle. “Come now, relax. All you need to do is open up for me.”

Will grits his teeth and tries to obey. _The sooner he gets what he wants, the sooner he’ll leave me alone._

“That’s it, darling.” A second finger squeezes in with the first, and then a third. They gently pry the internal muscles apart, opening him bit by bit. “You’re doing so well.”

One of his fingers then brushes against a spot that makes Will throw his head back with a gasp and buck his hips.

Lecter laughs softly. “I see we’ve found your prostate.”

Will whimpers as Lecter continues stimulating the gland tenaciously, even as Will squirms and tries to grab his hand in his own pathetic grip. His fingers feel numb and useless.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Lecter whispers, a vicious smile spreading across his face as he eyes the clear fluid leaking from Will’s twitching cock. “Do you think you could come just from this? I think you could. It might take a while, though, and I’m starting to get impatient.” With that, he removes his fingers, leaving Will panting and sweating, muscles clenching around air.

Lecter leans back, admiring the view. “Beautiful. I’ll have to draw you like this.”

Will smiles bitterly, falling back on his favourite defence-mechanism to keep from losing it. “Go ahead. Hell, take a trip downtown and buy an easel. I’ll wait.”

Lecter smiles back, amused by Will’s show of bravery. “Not just yet, but soon.” He picks up the bottle of lubricant again, and Will can’t help it as his eyes widen in fear when the doctor begins applying it to himself. Lecter closes his eyes and lets out a moan of satisfaction as he pulls back his foreskin, revealing the bulbous head of his cock.

He drapes himself over Will’s prone form so that their faces are aligned, reaching down to hold his cock and positioning it so he brushes against Will’s hole.

Will’s eyes dart around, desperately trying to seek out a distraction. He feels boxed in – on the verge of suffocation.

“Breathe, Will,” Lecter orders, cupping his face. He traces his thumbs over Will’s cheekbones, and rubs his fingers into the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

Will swallows audibly as he struggles to obey. He’s shaking from head to toe, cold sweat soaking into the sheets beneath him. “Why don’t you just get it over with already, Lecter?” he demands, glaring at the scar on the bridge of his father’s nose.

Lecter tuts again, moving his hips in a way that makes Will gasp in pleasure. “Really, Will, don’t you think you should use my _proper title_ when you address me?”

The profiler scoffs and balls his hands up into fists again, noting that it’s slowly getting easier for him to move. “Alright, _Doctor,_ I don’t have all night.” He sucks in a breath and holds it, forcing himself to relax.

_Just stay calm, and it’ll be over before you know it._

He _has_ to believe that.

Lecter shakes his head and tilts Will’s face up, forcing hated eye contact with the younger man. “That’s not the title I meant, _Son._ ”

Will’s mind blanks, and then he’s shaking his head furiously. “ _Fuck no!_ ” he hisses, snarling up at the doctor’s smug expression.

Lecter’s mouth turns down into a frown, and he tilts his head, pushing himself up with his arms. “Why ever not?”

Will lets out a sharp, hysterical laugh. “Because you’re not my father. You’re not my family. You’re _nothing_ to me.”

There’s a flash of emotion on Lecter’s face, and Will’s next words die in his throat as the forgotten scalpel returns, hovering a hair’s breadth away from his bobbing Adam’s apple. He freezes, wary of angering the doctor any further.

“I may not have been the one who raised you, but make no mistake, you are _my son,_ and you will obey me.” He smiles again, a horrible, cruel expression that makes Will wish he could disappear. “Or if you’d prefer, I can carve the word into your skin.”

The scalpel trails lower and settles just below Will’s right nipple.

Panic bubbles up and he lets out a keening noise as the blade sinks in.

“Let’s see now…D…A…”

“Stop!” he cries, because he knows he won’t be able to live with himself if he lets his father _brand_ him like this. “Daddy, _please!_ ”

Lecter pauses, looking up at Will’s face, though the scalpel lingers. Malicious glee burns in his eyes. “Say it again.”

Will gasps shakily before he replies in a dead voice, “Daddy.”

Lecter smirks, triumphant, and places the scalpel beside him as he returns to his previous position.

Will looks at his father’s face and sees only the visage of the wendigo staring down at him.

“Atta boy.”

Lecter presses their lips together in a mockery of a kiss as he penetrates him. The younger man lets out a whimper at the invasion, and tries to escape back into his mind.

_Please God, make me a stone,_  
_So that I can feel the water wash over me,_  
_And so that I can become part of the stream,_  
_Instead of an island begging to drown._

He’s wrenched out of his thoughts as Lecter tugs on his hair sharply, eliciting a cry.

“What did Daddy say? _No hiding._ ”

Will blinks his eyes open, his vision blurred by tears as he looks at his father’s face.

“That’s my good boy.” Lecter runs his hands down Will’s sides, holding on as he begins to thrust in earnest.

It doesn’t quite hurt, but it’s uncomfortable and impossible to ignore. Will would have pegged Lecter as someone who barely made a sound during sex, except perhaps a grunt or two at the end, but the doctor defies his expectations. He huffs and growls and lets out little moans when Will’s muscles tighten around him. The sounds fill up the room, making it impossible for Will to try to picture someone else in his place. Maybe he’s doing it on purpose.

His hands are everywhere – stroking Will’s chest, tugging on his hair, reaching around to cup his buttocks and pull him closer as his climax approaches.

Will endures it as best he can, trying not to think. When the doctor surges forward and begins nibbling and sucking on Will’s neck, he can only gasp and shut his eyes.

Lecter’s pace slows. Instead, he focuses on licking up the dripping blood from the numerous cuts on Will’s chest. “Red is a good colour on you,” he pants, tired from his activities.

Will stares at a strand of silver hair as it slips down and brushes against Lecter’s nose. “I’m sure you wear it better.”

Lecter grins, shark-like, and sits up, keeping himself inside the younger man.

Will’s erection has flagged. He’s grateful for that, though Lecter clearly doesn’t feel the same way. The doctor takes him in hand and starts stroking in time with his own movements.

His eyes flutter shut as the sensation overwhelms him, but he quickly pries them open as Lecter traces the bleeding cut over his heart with his fingernail. Will tries not to whimper as pain and pleasure combine, arousing him in ways he’d never considered possible.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lecter breathes, wrapping his arms around Will and pulling their bodies flush together. With a lurch, he sits up and pulls Will into his lap, resting the man’s head on his shoulder.

Will cries out as Lecter’s cock impales him completely. He shudders as the doctor rocks in and out, so horribly gentle even as his arms form a cage around him.

“I could just _kill_ your mother for trying to keep you from me,” he growls, digging his blunt fingernails into Will’s back. The profiler groans and tries to wriggle away from the pain. “ _Shh._ It’s okay, Will. Daddy’s going to take care of you from now on.” He rubs his hand soothingly over Will’s back, making the younger man stiffen.

“I don’t _need_ you to take care of me,” he states, even as dread fills him. He’d thought – _hoped_ – that Lecter would simply fuck him and kill him afterwards, or perhaps leave him alive out of some lingering familial affection. He can’t actually be saying…

“Of course you do,” Lecter counters, seeming amused by Will’s defiance. “You’re so desperately alone, aren’t you? You haven’t told anyone who you are or what you did – how you beat a man to death with your bare hands. I wonder what _Molly_ would think if she knew,” he adds slyly.

Will’s body jerks like a livewire as he tries to glare up at the doctor, only to be forced to rely on the man for balance. He glowers up at him anyway. “You stay the hell away from her!”

Lecter’s smile falters for a moment, and then comes back, this time with more than a touch of viciousness. “Oh, how _precious!_ You’re attracted to her.” He looms over Will, somehow seeming so much bigger than he really is. “Was it her sweet smile that drew you in, or her fluttering eyelashes? Do you think about inviting her into your bed and _fucking her_ just like this?” Suddenly Lecter isn’t so gentle anymore, and Will screams as the doctor shoves him back against the bed and starts pounding into him without care.

Lecter’s smile twists into a snarl, his eyes burning red as he stares at Will’s pain-filled expression. “She doesn’t deserve you,” he growls, grabbing Will’s cock in a too-tight grip and stroking it mercilessly. “She’ll never _know_ you, not like me. Do you understand?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Will yells, ready to agree to anything if he would just stop.

“Yes, _what?_ ”

He sobs, hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he shuts his eyes and bows his head in submission. “Yes, _Daddy._ ”

Almost immediately, the pain dulls as Lecter’s movements turn gentle again, and Will sobs in relief, trembling all over.

Lecter pulls him back up into a hug, pushing Will’s face against his throat and carding a hand through his curls. “There, there. That’s a good boy. It’s alright. I forgive you.”

_I didn’t do anything wrong._

Will doesn’t say that, too busy trying to ignore the feeling of what he’s _sure_ is blood dripping down his thighs. Even with the lubricant, it feels like Lecter just took a jackhammer to his asshole. He hopes he doesn’t need stitches. The _last_ thing he wants is some hospital intern trying to coax him into telling the police about his _assault._

Not that he’ll get the chance.

Lecter keeps thrusting into him, either oblivious or indifferent to the injuries he might have caused with his little _tantrum._

“We’ll stay here for a while,” he says suddenly, sounding like he’s simply making plans aloud. “I must commend you, Son, you picked the perfect spot for laying low. It’s good that you stocked up on produce recently, so your absence won’t be noticed for some time. _I,_ of course, made plans to have an old friend for dinner.” He smiles, amused by his own stupid pun.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Will stammers, hating himself a little more each second as pre-come leaks steadily out of his cock. He has no barriers to block out these physical sensations. His mental ones are already in tatters as it is.

Lecter hums thoughtfully, reaching down to take Will’s cock in hand once again. Despite the earlier violence, it responds eagerly to the touch. Sweat drips into Will’s eyes and his heartrate picks up. His trembling worsens. He can hardly hear Lecter over his own desperate gasps for air.

“Frederick Chilton recently departed for the Bahamas after hearing of my escape. I think we should pay him a visit.”

“How–” He gulps audibly, tilting his head back to make eye contact with the doctor. “How _did_ you escape?”

Lecter’s smugness is almost tangible. “Nothing but a bit of misdirection.” And then, because a man like him loves nothing more than to gloat, he continues. “Our mutual acquaintance, Jack Crawford, sent one of your students to talk me into helping the FBI capture a serial killer named Buffalo Bill.” He leans forward, as if sharing a secret. “One would think Uncle Jack would have learned his lesson after what happened to _you,_ but perhaps he doesn’t care so long as he gets his killer. I find that almost admirable.”

“Which student?” Will pants, clenching involuntarily as Lecter drags his thumb over the tip of his cock.

“Ms. Clarice Starling. Lovely girl. She has a bright future ahead of her, and she simply _adored you,_ Will. You were her favourite teacher.”

Will doesn’t say anything, too afraid of provoking another angry assault if he asks about the girl’s well-being.

“We exchanged a few tidbits of information. Your conversation with her about moving down south and getting a boat was very helpful in tracking you down.” He places a kiss on Will’s furrowed brow. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she thought it was vague enough that I would learn nothing from it. She likes you far too much to betray you willingly. Perhaps we will meet her again someday and she can explain.”

Will squeezes his eyes shut in response, cursing Jack Crawford to the pits of hell for this. Using Will was one thing, but using one of his _students!_ Putting the girl up against a mind like Lecter’s! What did he _expect_ to happen?

“I helped out in the investigation in exchange for a transfer to a different hospital, away from that bumbling idiot.” Lecter’s lip curls into a sneer at the thought of Frederick Chilton. “The guards failed to notice the lock-pick I built. It was easy to get my handcuffs off, and then I carved the face off of one of my escorting officers and wore it as my own.” He grins, delighted by his own cunning. “They had me in an ambulance before they even found the real officer’s body.”

Will can see it happening. His eyelids flutter, and each time they close, he sees a flash of memory that isn’t his: Handcuffing one of the officers to get him out of the way, biting into the other’s face – not just to injure him, but because he’s missed the _taste_ – using their own weapons against them – pepper spray, batons – leaving them broken and bleeding on the floor as he takes in his first moment of freedom in months.

And suddenly he’s coming, his eyes rolling back into his head as his whole body shudders with pleasure. He’s never had an orgasm this intense before, and the fact that it’s paired with visions of blood and death makes him wonder just what exactly Lecter has brought out of him.

The doctor keeps stroking him through it, looking oddly proud at the sight of Will coming unhinged. He plants another kiss on Will’s forehead and readjusts him so that his head is resting on Lecter’s shoulder. “I knew you’d enjoy it,” he whispers into his ear, keeping up his own steady thrusts as he starts to reach his end.

And that’s when Will notices the scalpel.

He’d almost forgotten about it, but there it is, glinting in the pale lamplight. It’s too far away to grab without Lecter catching on, but if he just pulls the sheets a little…

Lecter gives him the perfect opportunity, rocking into him hard enough to make Will gasp from the overstimulation. He reaches out to clench the sheets in his fists, and the scalpel slides closer, brushing against his fingertips when he opens his hand.

“My perfect boy…no one will ever love you like I do,” Lecter growls, and then he lets out a long, drawn-out moan and sinks down onto his back as he comes. He grabs Will’s face and kisses him, biting into his lip and sucking on his tongue, lost in his ecstasy.

The spell is broken instantly as Will’s straining muscles manage to shove him into a sitting position and the scalpel draws a thin, red line across Lecter’s neck.

Will trembles from the effort of staying upright. The wound is superficial, and he knows he has to finish this quickly, before Lecter…

But his father isn’t fighting back, not even a little. He’s just staring up at Will with a smile on his face. Will doubts it will fade even if he _does_ slit the man’s throat.

“What are you planning to do after you kill me?” he asks, seemingly unaware that the act of speaking makes the scalpel leave more shallow cuts on his neck.

Against his better judgement, Will pulls his weapon away, just enough to give him some breathing room. “I’ll call Jack to come pick up your body.”

“That would be twice now that you’ve killed someone. Do you think Uncle Jack might start getting suspicious? Maybe wonder if you’re not just a little too much like your dear old dad after all?”

Will’s face twists in rage and he presses the scalpel back against Lecter’s throat. “Shut up! I’m _nothing_ like you!”

Lecter smirks. “Say that again when you’re not threatening to kill me, and maybe I’ll believe you.”

“You smug son-of-a- _bitch!_ ” he yells, enraged.

“Now, now, Will, that’s your grandmother you’re referring to.”

Will laughs, but it comes out sounding more like a sob. “I hate you so much.” He shifts, and the movement reminds him that Lecter’s cock is still inside him. It’s getting hard again, too. The man has one hell of a refractory period for his age.

Lecter merely tilts his head. “Do you? Is that what you’re planning to tell Jack Crawford to explain why you killed me? Somehow, I doubt you’re eager to describe this night to him, especially the part where the thought of me murdering two innocent police officers had you climaxing so hard you nearly passed out.”

Will flinches, but can’t bring himself to deny it.

His father adopts a sympathetic look, and it’s hard to convince himself that it’s just an act. “It’s alright, Will. I understand. You suppressed those desires because you knew your adoptive father would never condone them.” He lifts his hands to cup Will’s face again, and the younger man can’t bring himself to push them away.

“You don’t have to worry about that sort of condemnation from _me,_ Son. I understand the beauty of death, just as you do.” He lets his hands drop to his sides, looking like a sacrificial lamb as he gazes up at Will. “You can kill me if you want. I won’t stop you. You can even eat me if you’re curious, or if you’re just fond of dramatic irony, but then you’ll have only yourself to blame when you find yourself alone again.” He smiles, blissful. “Or…you can put down the scalpel and we can discuss our future together over a nice, warm meal.”

It doesn’t take Will long to make his decision.

He _is_ rather hungry after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Did Will slit his daddy's throat and eat his corpse, or did they head over to Chilton's hideout and eat _him_ instead? Either way, Lecter wins. On the one hand, he dies with the knowledge that his child is capable of killing in cold blood - something he'd be _so_ proud of - or he gets the chance to mold him into a mirror image of himself to carry on his legacy of murdering people for petty reasons and turning their bodies into pretentious art pieces.
> 
> Hurray?
> 
> And yes, Will had Mischa's eyes. Didn't help him much. Lecter's humanity is long gone by now.
> 
> I'm going to go write something happy now, (or at least happier than this).
> 
> Adieu, my faithful readers.

**Author's Note:**

> We're one chapter in and Lecter is already trying to off the offspring, not that he _knows_ Will is his son yet. Why do I love torturing that boy? Is it because he's just so darn cute when he's in peril? Not that Matthew Brown - our unnamed guard/assailant - ever really stood a chance against him.
> 
> FYI, that _is_ what you're supposed to do when someone chokes you from behind - ignore the hands/rope, and go for the eyes. My nails are probably long enough to scrape off a bit of someone's frontal lobe if necessary. (Is that messed up? That's messed up.)
> 
> I'll try to finish updating by the end of the week. I might be going to visit my grandma next week, and her internet connection is spotty at best. I don't want to leave you guys hanging for too long.
> 
> Adieu, my faithful readers.


End file.
